Inconceivable
by The Clockwork Angel
Summary: It's just after the Battle on the Burning Plains, and Roran still holds Eragon accountable for the death of Garrow and the destruction of their farm back in Palancar Valley. Will he realize the truth and move on? Who will help him?


The Inheritance Cycle: Inconceivable

Roran didn't know what to look at first. Everything around him was foreign, new to him, surreal. Part of this feeling came from the disbelief that he and the other villagers actually made it from Carvahall to Surda. Another part came from the natural anxiety of being on a battlefield. And the last part, he knew, came from the inconceivable confrontation between him and his cousin, Eragon.

Roran had not been able to see much of his younger cousin, what with his armor and all. But he knew that Eragon was changed. Roran knew that from that moment forward, he was to treat Eragon the Dragon Rider with unconditional and utter respect. It would be required of him.

As Roran wandered through the piles of bodies, smoking earth, and painful cries of the wounded and dying, he thought about the bond he and Eragon used to have not a year before. He wondered with all his heart if they would ever share that brotherly bond again. Would secrets and desire tear them apart like so many before them? Would jealousy? Power? Though Roran knew it was not in Eragon's nature to become arrogant, but what did he know? Roran didn't think it was in Eragon's nature to become a Dragon Rider! Everything seemed so unpredictable and unexplainable.

Roran turned on his heel, preparing to push through the mass of people surrounding the Varden's Command Pavilion and demand the whereabouts of his cousin. He had to talk to Eragon personally in order to calm his turbulent thoughts. He had to know what had happened in the past…and what would happen in the future. He needed Eragon to confirm, or deny, everything in Jeod's tale. He needed Eragon to explain his role in Garrow's death and the destruction of their simple lives. But most of all, Roran needed Eragon to agree to accompany him to rescue Katrina from the Ra'zac.

Roran continued on his way, absentmindedly stroking his beard, thinking of shaving it off and cutting his hair so as to look presentable for his reunion with Katrina. His eyes started to close, enveloping him in a daydream: He and Eragon engulfed in an intense battle. The ra'zac were fast and fierce. Roran, swinging his hammer like a weightless ragdoll, struck both ra'zac in the back of their heads, killing them immediately. Roran imagined himself running through Helgrind, screaming the name of his beloved. Katrina then came running out of the darkness, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing him everywhere. The two of them were infatuated with each other's presence. Roran was laughing, crying, and kissing all at the same time, though he wasn't sure how that was even possible…

He was torn out of his fantasy as he accidentally walked into someone.

Roran slowly opened his eyes, embarrassed that he had become so intimate with his precious desires in public. He was expecting to open his eyes to a soldier or a villager. He was not expecting to open his eyes to the shirtless young elf standing before him.

Roran stepped back a couple of steps to take in the elf: He had chestnut, silky, glossy hair, falling to the middle of his neck. His face was smooth, pale, and held no blemishes. The eyes matched the hair: deep chestnut in color. The elf's lips were a petal pink, like a pale rose. His ears were pointed, one of which held a sapphire piercing in the middle of the lobe. Roran's gaze traveled down the narrow shoulders, thin, lean chest, narrow hips, and long, skinny legs. All in all: the elf before him was the most beautiful creature Roran had ever laid eyes upon.

The elf seemed to be studying Roran as well. Roran noticed that he took an extended amount of time examining his face. Roran looked down to the ground, beginning to shuffle his feet awkwardly. He noticed the elf's boots and pants looked expensive and spotless; neither were stained, ripped, or patched. There were also exquisite embroidered designs on the legs of the pants. Both were brown, but the boots were perhaps two shades darker than the pants.

Both young men looked up from their examinations at the same time, simultaneously looking into each other's eyes.

Roran, suddenly feeling rugged and dirty in the presence of someone so pristine, began combing his hair with his fingers, trying to retain some dignity. The elf, obviously amused, chuckled softly.

"Don't be embarrassed. I've seen far worse." The elf was grinning kindly. "In fact, I myself have looked worse."

Roran, looking at the grin and hearing the soft voice, relaxed and felt less self-conscious. He held out his hand.

"I am Roran, Son of Garrow. I come here from the village of Carvahall. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The elf smiled again and shook Roran's hand. "I've heard many tales about you, Stronghammer. You have no need to introduce yourself to me."

Roran, taken aback, dropped his hand to his side. "You've heard about me? But how?"

Again, the elf smiled, though it was more sly than polite. "News travels quickly throughout an empire, even one so large as Alagaësia. Especially when there's an entire village traveling in your wake." The elf gave a small laugh.

Roran, surprised, stuttered lamely. "Oh, w-w-well, thank you…sir. M-m-may I ask your name?" Roran smiled, attempting to cover his surprise and rising pride by humbling himself.

The elf's smile faded. His eyes became dark and serious. "You've heard about me, I'm sure. In fact, you've known me…for many years. You just don't recognize me."

One of Roran's eyebrows lifted slowly, disbelieving. "I've never seen or heard of you in my life."

"Nonsense," the elf scoffed. Then, a huge sapphire dragon dropped down nimbly from the sky, flaring its translucent wings and lowering itself gently to the ground behind the elf. It moved easily forward and curled its tail around him.

Roran stiffened, realizing that he was in the presence of none other than his younger cousin. He was partially relieved, having found him safe and happy. But he was also resentful. While Roran himself had been suffering and leading Carvahall through the Empire, Eragon had been running around with a dragon, honored, obeyed, and adored. Roran couldn't help but feel a stab of jealousy. He knew deep down that Eragon had absolutely no control over what had happened. But, wanting a scapegoat, Roran felt the need to blame him and curse him anyway.

Eragon and Roran stood and stared into each other's eyes for the longest time. Saphira's gaze flicked back and forth between the two as they took part in their mental battle. Though Saphira could sense that neither was talking to the other, the raging war in their eyes told all.

Finally, Eragon spoke, his voice no more than a whisper.

"Do you hate me?"

Roran looked away, debating whether or not he should tell Eragon everything he felt, or hold back so as not to cause him pain. As his silence drew out for long minutes, Eragon turned slowly and began to walk away, shoulders slumped. Roran spun on his heel and began to walk in the other direction, only to stop in his tracks as an alien conscious touched his very being.

"_Roran._" It was a female voice, old and wise. She sounded loving and gentle, but stern and demanding. Most of all, it seemed to him that she felt as if there was a second part that was missing from her. Roran spoke aloud.

"Yes?" He replied, looking around. He wasn't sure who had spoken. Nobody was there except for him and…Saphira! It dawned upon him and he looked towards the beautiful blue dragon. She stared at him with her big sapphire eyes and blinked. The voice rang inside his head again.

"_Be nice to him. He's suffered just as much as you have. The both of us have made sacrifices that you cannot even imagine."_

Roran felt rage ravage his temper. How dare this dragon tell him about sacrifices! He had lost everything because of his cousin! And for what? To find out that Eragon had been living the life they'd always dreamed of! What made him deserve it? Roran, forgetting his contact with Saphira, cursed Eragon like he never had before. It wasn't until Saphira growled that he realized his mistake.

"_You best know your place, youngling! You have no right to speak of a Dragon Rider that way! In fact, you have no right to speak of anyone that way, unless they've caused you deliberate harm! What Eragon did was protect you! He ran away so the ra'zac would not destroy Palancar Valley, but would instead follow him, myself, and Brom. Had he not run away with the old storyteller, the ra'zac would have killed you and your young ones much sooner and much easier."_

Roran thought about this little speech before replying.

"I'm not mad at him for running away. I can't hold him accountable for something I did myself by leading the villagers out of their homes. What makes me upset is that he kept you a secret from the rest of the family. And when he ran away, he didn't even bury our father! He was too caught up in going on an adventure! And besides, he could have saved him from the ra'zac! If only he'd tried!" Roran crossed his arms over his chest and turned away from Saphira, looking out towards the setting sun over the Jiet River.

Saphira gave what sounded like a sigh. Roran glanced over his back to see her glaring at him.

"_Did you not just hear what I said? We had to leave as fast as possible to ensure the safety of your village and the safety of ourselves. There were many people who would have willingly buried Garrow. And as for the reason why he was not to be saved…you can blame me._"

Saphira seemed to look ashamed by the last statement. Her tail curled and her head bowed to the ground. Roran's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"What do you mean "your fault?"

Saphira looked at him earnestly before replying.

"_Eragon was running as fast as he could through the Spine to try to save Garrow. He had only just learned of Sloan's deception. While he was running, I…kidnapped him, for lack of a better word. The next morning, even though his legs were skinned from riding me bareback, he carried Garrow from your farm into Carvahall. Brom saw him struggling, and took over just as Eragon passed out. When Garrow had died a couple of days later, I was the one who suggested we leave Palancar Valley. Eragon agreed with me. He believed that there was nothing left for him in Carvahall. He also wanted to pursue the ra'zac and punish them for their crimes._"

Roran blinked, a sudden wave of guilt rushing through him. He'd never heard that side of the story. He had just assumed that Eragon was being negligent and inconsiderate. He was drawn back into reality when Saphira continued:

"_Eragon has lost a lot, Roran Garrowsson. He lost the man who raised him, the man who taught him, and now he's lost one of his best friends, Murtagh. Yet, he keeps going. He keeps living with the heartache just to ensure the safety of his loved ones, and ultimately, the rest of the Empire. You must remember that. What you have done, though honorable, was not required. You did it out of choice. Eragon, though he chooses to continue, though he has suffered, is struggling in a world of legends, war, magic, politics, and sacrifice. He's had to grow up a lot in a very short amount of time. It's barely been a year, and he is already unrecognizable._" She seemed to make a smirking face. "_Both physically and emotionally. He loves you and he admires you. Now, go and chase after him. This was supposed to be a joyful reunion!" _And with that, Saphira leapt into the sky, leaving Roran to his thoughts.

Stroking his beard, Roran walked towards the Varden's encampment, prepared to show Eragon the love and support he so desperately needed.

As he reached the jumble of tents that was the Varden, he noticed one tent set away from the others. Without exactly knowing why, he headed straight for it. Once he appeared outside the flap, he heard sniffling inside. He was able to peek in without being noticed, and saw Eragon sitting on a plain, brown cot, eyes red and swollen from crying. Pity surged through Roran, and he pulled back the entrance flap.

Eragon looked up suddenly. Once he saw it was Roran, he quickly took a thin blanket and started rubbing the tears away from his eyes.

"W-what do you need?" Eragon asked Roran, his voice sounding congested.

"May I?" Roran asked, gesturing to the empty space next to Eragon on the cot. When Eragon nodded, he sat down, feeling awkward.

Roran sat there, twiddling his thumbs and shuffling his feet, randomly looking around the tent.

The tent was neat and tidy. The only furniture was a small, bedside table, a stool, and a small chest of drawers. On the dresser was a wash basin. Beside the bed, leaning against the small table, was a pack filled with a water skin, spare armor, and couple pairs of clothing. There was a large gap in the middle of the tent, allowing ample walking space.

Eragon looked over at Roran, and Roran turned and looked back.

Then, Roran leaned toward Eragon and engulfed him in a bear hug. Tears began to roll down Eragon's cheeks again, and Roran could feel tears running down his own.

The two sat, wrapped in each other's arms, each comforted by the other's presence. It was a long time before either of them spoke. When the silence was broken, Roran spoke.

"I'm sorry…about everything. I had no idea what the whole picture looked like. I just assumed that you had done something wrong when you hadn't." He paused. "Can you forgive me?" he asked sheepishly.

Eragon smiled. "How can I not? You are the only family I have left that's not dead or insane." He gave a small laugh. Roran laughed too.

"I can't guarantee that I'm not insane, but I'm certainly not dead." Roran grimaced. "At least not yet, anyway."

"Well," Eragon said, "You should start practicing to defend yourself." And Eragon jumped on top of Roran. "Wrestle me!" he screamed. 


End file.
